


Terrible Love

by babaoreilly



Category: Captain America (Movies), Political Animals
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Bottom TJ, Bucky Barnes Has PTSD, Eventual Smut, Everyone Needs A Hug, M/M, Multi, Not Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie) Compliant, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations, References to Drugs, Top Steve Rogers, When I Know What I'm Doing, lots of eventual smut, so much swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-13
Updated: 2018-09-26
Packaged: 2019-07-11 20:16:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15979703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babaoreilly/pseuds/babaoreilly
Summary: TJ Hammond and Bucky Barnes have more than just flawless bone structure and some worrying mental health issues in common, they're also both stupidly in love with Steve Rogers and willing to try anything to keep him. Just so happens that 'anything' turns out to be pretty fucking great too. Eventually...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've never posted anything on AO3 before, I'm a real noob here so if there's anything along the way that you think needs tagging then don't hesitate to tell me.
> 
> Also; this is completely unbeta'd, there's probably a shit ton of mistakes in this somewhere - you can tell me about them too, I can handle it

TJ watched the news that morning along with the rest of the USA. Though he suspected his experience was probably wildly different to that of the average American.

He’d known the moment his Nana had called out to him with that unfamiliar tremble to her voice, and that look in her eyes that it was Steve.

He hadn’t seen how it had started, or why, all he knew was that he was watching his boyfriend being shot at by a dozen different gunmen and that there was one who had a silver arm and looked infinitely more dangerous than the others, though there had only been the briefest of glimpses of him and most from the air. It seemed even the usual vultures with a microphone and a camera were afraid of getting too close. But TJ didn’t care _who_ was shooting at his boyfriend or what their reasons were. His focus was fixed on searching for any whisper of that now so familiar shield or the blue of Steve’s t-shirt, the one TJ had watched him put on just that morning, all while he whispered desperate pleas under his breath for him to be okay.

He’d known from the start what dating Captain America would entail. It was all part of the package, he _knew_ that. But there was a difference knowing your partner risked his life on a more than regular basis, and _watching_ it happen live in his Nana's living room.

The news report cut short just as Steve started a damn sparring match against one with the silver arm and wasn’t _that_ just fucking typical. He grabbed the remote, began flicking desperately through the channels trying to find another station that would show him whether or not his boyfriend had been killed or was _being_ killed and every reporter was talking _about_ the conflict on the highway, but _no one_ was telling him what the fuck was happening now and he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t fucking breathe.

Someone was trying to pull the remote from his grip, and when he tightened his fingers around it he felt a feather light touch on his cheek. His Nana was turning his face away from the screen, wiping at the tears under his eyes because of course he was crying, he cried at just about fucking anything, had done since he was a kid. He pushed the heels of his hands into his eyes until he saw red and white spots clouding the blackness behind his lids.

“He’ll be okay, honey”

He heard his Nana say, and of course, he _knew_ this too. Steve was always okay, battered and bruised nine times out of ten, but okay. There was no reason to believe that this time would be different than any other, apart from the fact that this time TJ had just _watched_ half a dozen men take aim at Steve’s fucking head.  

But that said, he was confident, relatively speaking, that Steve was going to be fine. Steve was always fine. He was Captain America, he’d faced worse things than a couple of assholes with guns, TJ just needed to hear his voice that was all, just to be sure. But that was where everything fell to shit.

He’d spent the rest of the day pacing from one room to the next, a TV on in each one, a different news channel on every screen. His phone clutched in his hand like a lifeline because Steve _always_ called him when he could to let him know he was okay. But it had been six hours since the incident on the bridge, there were rumours that some of the Avengers were inside the damn Triskelion when it fell, and TJ still hadn’t heard from him. He would have sold his last working kidney for a line of coke, would probably have sold it for a couple of drags on a joint had someone offered, anything to push him through.

It was gone two in the morning, over fourteen hours later when Steve finally called. It should have calmed him, hearing his voice and knowing he was okay, because he said he was, Steve _said_ he was fine. He was still in DC, he’d be with him soon and he was fine.

But he didn’t sound it.

And TJ had heard Steve’s voice when he was tired, and scared, and when he was in so much pain that he couldn’t stand up. But he had never heard him sound like that before, and God he wished he knew then that that was only the start.

 

** Chapter One **

 

It wouldn’t have been too far-fetched to say that for the last three years TJ Hammond had been living his best life, his very best _fucking_ life right up until six months ago. Six months and three weeks if he was getting methodical about it. In retrospect, it shouldn’t have come as much of a shock that everything had eventually fallen to shit, if anything he really should have expected it. He should’ve known better than to jump head first into a relationship with Steve fucking Rogers of all people. He was TJ Hammond after all, prodigal underachiever and born loser. How else was it going to end?

**-We need to talk-**

Steve had sent him that text two days ago, and TJ was still coming back to the message again and again, trying to hear it said in a different tone, or with a different meaning—one that maybe wasn’t so foreboding. Or that he had somehow missed the ridiculous little heart emoji’s Steve always left at the end of his texts, because that was the seventeenth one without and now he wanted to talk, and TJ _knew_ what that fucking meant.

It meant Steve was going to fly back to DC and sit on TJ's couch with that soft, apologetic smile he usually saved for when he was cancelling their date again, whilst he held TJ’s hand and told him that they had had a good run, but it just wasn’t working anymore, and TJ would try to smile and nod and tell him he understood, even though he didn’t because six months ago they had been talking about moving in together, and TJ had fucked up a lot of things over the years, but he thought this might be his most monumental fuck-up of all.

 

He heard a cab turning down his street and couldn’t bring himself to be within line of sight of the front door, that eerie spark of intuition telling him it was Steve. Couldn’t keep his head screwed on right when he was proved right and those familiar footsteps began to approach, found that the thought of seeing him now was making his stomach churn and his hands shake. His Nana always did tell him that he wore his heart on his sleeve, which was really just a romanticised way of saying he was emotional as fuck, but if he stood any chance of not falling apart the moment he saw Steve then he needed something to help him keep a hold of himself. His first choice—one guess what that was—hadn’t really seemed like a choice at all six months ago but was on his mind now almost as much as his failing relationship was, it wasn’t an option, not really. But thank God for the Barrish family devotion to alcohol, because his kitchen may have been lacking anything considered edible, but he would never be short on that.

He felt the prickle of hairs rising on the back of his neck as Steve’s clunking footsteps reached the front door, and if there was any reluctance about hitting the bottle before, hearing Steve’s seconds-long hesitation before he let himself in was enough to make him unscrew the first one his hand found and chug the liquor straight from the lip.

“TJ?”

“Mm?”, the gin—which was unfortunately what he’d picked up—spilt down his chin and soaked the neck of his t-shirt as his nervous hands fumbled to put the bottle down. He couldn’t turn around, not yet. Couldn’t see the look he was bound to see on Steve’s face when he did and he thought, childishly, that if he ignored the business of why Steve was there long enough then it might just disappear altogether. TJ could be optimistic when he wanted to be. 

“Teej?”

“You want a drink?”, he asked, as brightly as the lump in his throat would allow him to, still refusing to face his boyfriend as he grabbed two glasses from the shelves above him. Used to be that Steve could barely get a leg out of the cab before he had an armful of TJ wrapped around him like some tenacious koala-bear with abandonment issues, now TJ only wished he’d get back in, “I’ve got gin. Or I’ve got…”, he rifled through the cupboard, bottles clanging against one another as he pushed them aside in search of something more…Steve. Hard to find alcohol suited to your 99-year-old boyfriend who couldn’t get drunk though, he’d go off quality of taste but with TJ’s tendency to pay more attention to quantity _not_ quality, and Steve’s bad habit of always drinking whatever lager the barkeep recommended—he wasn’t sure where to start.

 “Louis XIII”, he decided, pulling the amber bottle from it’s dusty place at the back of the shelf, “Dad left it a couple of weeks ago. You like cognac, right?”

“TJ, wh—”

“—You do. You drank it at Tony’s party last year, I remember”, he could see his fingers trembling as he continued to turn over his booze nook, couldn’t let Steve see that he was near losing it… never had much of a talent for acting though, and he was pretty certain that his performance was only serving to send little flashing red-light warnings to the man behind him, probably encouraging the break-up rather than postponing it and wasn’t that just the kind of shit TJ did best.

“TJ”, Steve’s voice cut through his thoughts, tone sharp and serious—his Captain America voice, he realised, finger’s faltering around the brim of the glass he was holding, Steve usually saved that shit for when TJ was being a real asshole.

“I need a drink, Steve”, he mumbled, decidedly ignoring the other man as he walked right up into his personal space without a pause until his ridiculously unyielding chest was pressing against TJ’s back like a brick wall. He felt the ghost of Steve’s lips skim from the base of his neck to the join above his collar bone, making goose bumps rise across his skin as Steve leaned over and pulled the glass from his hand.

“You ok?”

TJ could have laughed. Would have, had he not been using all his bodily resources trying to keep his emotions in check, stuck between wanting to fall to Steve’s feet and beg him not to do it, and launching the damn bottle right at his sublime fucking face. Was he ok? No. No he really fucking wasn’t, “I’m fine. Told you, I just need a drink”,

“Okay”

He could still feel Steve’s eyes on him but for once, and probably for the first time since TJ had met the man, he dropped the subject. Likely due to some other foreboding reason that TJ couldn’t muster up the energy to think about, “You gonna have one? This stuff cost Dad like three grand…”, he asked, holding the bottle of Louis XIII up and waggling it playfully in Steve’s direction, trying to move his own shit on as much as his boyfriends, “You know nothing screams fuck you like drinking another man’s 100-year-old cognac when you can’t even get drunk”

Steve smiled back, huffing out a laugh with a shake of his head, and TJ felt a traitorous little spark of hope in his chest as the blonde took hold of his hand and squeezed his fingers, “Sure. Pour me a glass”

“That’s my guy” TJ winked, before breaking off into a cough to cover the tragic little squeak that sounded from the back of his throat as he realised what he’d said. My guy, he thought sourly. TJ Hammond; comedian till the end.

TJ would have stayed in the kitchen, staging his usual woe is me routine and drowning himself in alcohol he never savoured long enough to taste, but all too soon they were in TJ’s living room. Steve found his regular spot on the couch while TJ sat stiffly on the armchair his Nana had insisted he took when he moved, it wasn’t his usual place. His usual place was always somewhere on top of Steve—he was a clingy motherfucker when his partner allowed him to be, sue him—though he’d downgraded to just pressing up against his side in recent weeks. Didn’t seem right to sit there any more anyway, much as he wanted to, as much as he needed that contact.

They sat in silence, TJ glancing between the glass in his hands and his boyfriend sitting ten feet or so away. He looked nervous, staring at the glass much the same way TJ was, letting the minutes drag on until TJ was itching with the need for him to just get it over with. That was at least until Steve lifted his head, meeting TJ’s steel blues with his own clear skies, making TJ wish he could rewind and make the silence last just a little bit longer.

 “Teej?”

He made a strange sort of grunt in acknowledgement but turned his face away, making a point of finding the décor above his fireplace all too interesting. He wondered if Steve would ask for those sketches back or if he’d let him keep them—he hoped he’d at least get to keep the nude one, if he couldn’t piss his Momma off with a cocaine addiction any more then it always helped to keep an accurate depiction of your naked self above the fireplace for when she came to visit.  

“Teej, come here”

Steve’s voice was full of sympathy and God, that was the worst. He had enough of that for himself, he didn’t need it from Steve too. He shook his head, “Steve—“

“—No, listen”, He interrupted sharply, cutting him off with the clang of his glass as he placed it on the coffee table in front of him at little too forcefully, “I know what you’re thinking I can see it in your face. Come here. Please”

Well that was probably true, he’d always been told that he could be read like a damn book, being with someone as perceptive as Steve was never going to help him there. He didn’t want to, but TJ was nothing if not pathetic, so he nodded his head jerkily and walked over to the other man like he was being drawn in by a magnet. Steve pulled the glass from his grip when he reached him and placed it on one of the coasters that looked like old vinyl records on the table. TJ knew this because his gaze didn’t move from the glass until he felt Steve pulling him down to sit beside him. TJ still couldn’t look at him, but Steve placed a light grip around his jaw anyway and forced his gaze up

“I love you. You know that, right?”, he said, and TJ nodded in agreement—an automatic response, but it was a lie, because no, he didn’t know that. He hadn’t been sure of that for months and he certainly wasn’t sure of it now,

“There’s…okay there’s a few things I’ve got to tell you”, Steve continued, and there was something in the way he phrased that, that made a feeling of dread slither it’s way into his stomach, something more than just nerves about being broken up with, but he couldn’t place why those words put him on edge, why they made him sit up that bit straighter. Steve must have noticed his change in psyche, and maybe he could read more into it than TJ could right then because his eyes fluttered shut just briefly before he was surging forward and kissing him. There was no tongue like there usually was, but TJ wasn’t exactly reciprocating. Steve kept his lips pressed firmly against TJ’s unmoving ones like he couldn’t bring himself to stop and TJ really, _really_ , wished he wouldn’t. He couldn’t bring himself to kiss him back, lips refused to move in tangent because he was too aware of how much like a goodbye kiss it was, but that wasn’t to say he wanted it to end.

Steve’s forehead was leaning against his own when he started speaking again, one hand cupping his face as his thumb rubbed softly into the skin under his eye, “You remember the day the Triskelion fell?”, he asked, voice quiet and hesitant, “And the fight? The one on the highway…you said you watched it?”

TJ frowned. He had no idea why the fuck Steve would be bringing that up unless…unless he’d gotten it all wrong, and this was about something else entirely. But that didn’t even seem feasible after the last six months. He nodded anyway. Of course he remembered it.

“Do you remember um… _who_ we were fighting?”

He huffed out a breath in irritation and pulled his face away from Steve’s hold, “You said…”, he tried to think back, but that day had been fucking bedlam from start to finish and all he could really remember was Steve’s wrecked voice at the end of it, “You said something about Hydra? I don’t know Steve you know I don’t pay attention to that shit. What does that have to do with anything?”

“It’s…”, and then it was Steve’s turn to sigh frustratedly. He bent forward, leaning his elbows on his knees, blanketing his face with his hands and still not fucking saying anything.

“Just say it Steve!”, he snapped, feeling the tether holding his shit together thinning more each minute, “What? Did you meet someone that day? Is that why you’re leaving me? You met someone else?”

Steve had the audacity to look dumbfounded by the very suggestion, like he hadn’t spent the last six months doing everything possible to stop TJ from going up to New York to see him, like they didn’t go from spending almost every night of the last three years in the same bed as each other to TJ being lucky to get a full 12 hours a week with him, like they didn’t spend those few precious hours once a week doing nothing more than fighting about everything and nothing at the same time.

“What? No, I’m not leaving you…I’m, I’m not”

TJ laughed, it was a bitter, hollow sound, but he couldn’t help it, even with tears pricking at his eyes he laughed and shook his head because he’d never heard Steve sound so uncertain before, and his mind had scoured its way through many scenarios of how it was going to end between them but he’d never imagined that there really would have been someone else involved. Not his Steve. He looked back at him, his sour smile fading as he waited for whatever Steve was going to say next, but the man continued to sit in silence, glowering furiously at his clasped palms like they were to blame,

“Steve”

“Please just… Just give me a minute”, he murmured, and TJ did. Impatiently. Knocking back his drink in one swift gulp before snatching Steve’s to down as well. If he’d had a gram of sniff he would have snorted it right there on the coffee table, for a fight or just for the attention he wasn’t sure, the two often went hand in hand for TJ. Sometimes, like now, he wanted the attention on him, he needed to be seen, and most of the time it didn’t matter whether it was in a good light or bad. Just so happened people found it easier to see him in a bad one.

“The man I was fighting that day was Bucky”, Steve said, pulling TJ from his thoughts, and at first he thought he mustn’t have said anything at all, because those words didn’t sound right, couldn’t have been right. He replayed them over in his head and still couldn’t make sense of them. Bucky, that was what it sounded like. They’d talked about Bucky Barnes often, inevitably of course. He was the reason TJ and Steve had first struck up a conversation at all, what with them sharing a face and god damn, how could it be possible that they look so alike. Steve had never shied away from speaking about his past lover, TJ knew enough about the famous sniper that he could tell you the man’s favourite pomade and the sweet tooth he had and why he never liked wearing underwear, but none of that threw any light upon why Bucky was being brought up _now_.

“What?”, he said, because Steve didn’t look like he planned on expanding any further, and because TJ was now certain that he must have misheard,

“The man I was fighting that day was Bucky”, he repeated, his voice monotonous and robotic, like he’d rehearsed the words in his head before speaking out loud. Still didn’t make any sense to TJ, it still felt like he was missing something,

“Bucky Barnes?”

Steve nodded, dropping his face back into his hands and letting out a shuddering breath, but TJ could hardly pay attention to that, he was shaking his head, his upper lip pulling up in confusion, “Bucky Barnes is dead”, he said, ignoring the wince Steve made as he did because what he was saying wasn’t plausible, it _wasn’t_ , and Steve _knew_ that, “Steve, Bucky’s dead. Bucky died. He fell off that train. You told me that. You told me you watched him. You—“

“—TJ, Listen!”, Steve barked, gripping his knees so tight TJ flinched at the pain and looked down at the fingers digging into his flesh. He looked back up at Steve who was staring back at him determinedly, “It was Bucky that day. He’s… He didn’t die. The day he fell, he didn’t die. And Hydra found him they... They did a lot of shit. And now he’s here. He’s back”

TJ was still shaking his head, even as he could feel his brain moving things into place “It... No. No way. It just looks like him. Obviously there’s a few of us walking around.  It can’t be him”

“It’s him, TJ”

“No. Steve be real. How can it be him?”,

“He’s been living with me. At the Tower. He’s been recovering there. It’s him”

Been living with him. His mind parroted back to him in a whisper, but he was too afraid to fully process what that meant, “Bucky Barnes died in 1944”, he said weakly, because it couldn’t be true. It couldn’t.

“So did I”

TJ fell into silence, as did Steve. A lot of things had changed over the years in terms of what people believed to be possible and what they didn’t. Aliens, inventions and weapons the people of earth could never have conceived to be real ten, even five years ago…it was all a fact of the universe now. There was a God who spent time in upper Manhattan, another had almost annihilated New York City with god damn space worms. Steve… Steve was Captain America. And Captain America had died after crashing his plane into the Arctic Ocean in 1944. Americans had learned every declassified detail of that last assignment in high school. But now Steve was here, very human, and very much alive, and the idea of someone coming back to life, or still being alive, didn’t seem so impossible anymore, and in the scheme of things, wasn’t as strange and as terrifying as other aspects of the new 21st century way of life. And so, TJ reasoned, Bucky Barnes…Bucky Barnes could be alive too. Bucky Barnes, who was Steve’s first love, Steve’s first everything. Bucky Barnes who had had the kind of epic love story you only read about in Young Adult novels with TJ’s boyfriend. And Steve had said he had been living with him…

TJ could compartmentalise when he had to, _if_ he had to, and processing that Bucky Barnes was still alive wasn’t easy despite the extremely vast list of stranger things that had happened, but it was easy to put aside for processing another time when he looked at Steve’s guilty as fuck face and realised with a sudden clarity that he wasn’t lying, that this wasn’t a prank and his boyfriend hadn’t gone insane, “Bucky Barnes is alive?”, he asked, getting a jerky nod in reply, “He’s been living with you?”

The pieces clicked into place and almost instantly, Bucky being alive suddenly made more sense than him not. It explained just about everything he had been making himself sick with for the last six months, and in an instant, he wasn’t just sad and confused. He was angry, “So this is… This is it then? Bucky’s back and I’m what? I’m old news?”

“No. No, TJ…“, Steve shook his head and made a grab for TJ’s hands, but he pulled them away quickly, he couldn’t stand being touched by him right then,

“So what are you telling me?”,

“I don’t know—“

“—Do you still love him?” he asked, cutting him off. He already knew the answer, of course he did, but there was a little kindling in his chest, just a little flicker that hoped, _hoped,_ Steve would give him a different answer. He realised Steve wasn’t speaking and looked up from where he had lost focus on his socked feet, “Steve?”

 “Of course I do”, Steve said, so quiet that TJ wouldn’t have been able to hear him had he not been holding his breath, “I’ve loved him my whole life”

He wasn’t sure how long they sat there. In truth it felt like hours though he knew it wasn’t, “What about me?”, he finally asked, because that was the hitch wasn’t it? If the ghost TJ had been competing with for the last three years was no longer that, then where did that leave him?

Steve sighed, opening his palms and spreading them wide as if to say he didn’t know. The anger burst from inside him like a damn tidal wave, clouding his vision until that was all he could see. His fingers gripped the edges of the coffee table as he stood, flipping it upside down and watching with abstract satisfaction as Steve flinched and the glasses smashed into the fireplace, “No. No, I know…this isn’t about me. Is it?”, he laughed humourlessly, pacing across the room and storming back to stand in front of Steve, “This hasn’t been about me since the day you found out he was alive”

And he was right. God he felt so stupid, because that day of the shootout was the day it had all started. It was the day Steve had hung up without telling TJ he loved him, the day he’d told TJ he’d see him soon only to not show up at all for almost two weeks. Typical, stupid fucking TJ, “You’ve just been keeping me around in case it didn’t work out with the one you really wanted”, he spat, more to himself than to Steve, because he was pretty damn sure Steve already knew that, even as he started to protest. TJ didn’t listen, didn’t have to because he couldn’t hear him over the pounding in his ears anyway. The anger he was feeling started to weaken and become overtaken by a feeling of heartbreak so strong that he had to sit down before his legs gave out from underneath him, “You know this would have been much easier if you’d just ended it that day he came back”, he managed to say though his bottom lip was wobbling, “Would of saved me a lot of time. Six months. Six months I’ve been waiting for you to do this, Steve, why…”, his voice broke and he tried to disguise it with a cough, but his heart was breaking and it sounded more like a sob than it would have otherwise, “Why the fuck did you keep me hanging on? You knew this would happen, Steve. You fucking knew it”

“I’m not ending anything TJ, I just—”

“Fuck off, Steve”

“Teej…”

“Fuck off”

 

**********

 

Bucky had thought he was doing okay. Six months out of Hydra’s grip and he almost felt like a regular human again. Sometimes he struggled with the notion of the everyday things, the things he’d spent 70 years not having to think about, like remembering to brush his teeth in a morning, eating—or rather, taking his protein shakes because his stomach still couldn’t handle solids, not waiting until his bladder had reached its limit before going to the toilet. That kind of shit.

He just needed reminders every now and again, and that was okay. Steve said so. As did his shrink, though he was still unconvinced about the value of the kind of shit therapists spewed. Half of that crap was just common sense anyway. But all in all, things were good. Bad days were getting less common, and good days weren’t so rare anymore, he guessed he could count that as a win.

Things would be better if Steve wasn’t holding out on him so much.

How the little punk thought he’d remembered every other aspect of his life—including all of the real shitty parts—but was still drawing a blank on the fact they’d spent half their lives with their hands down each others pants he didn’t know. Though he suspected it had a little more to do with him playing the noble, respectable friend of a vulnerable trauma victim than Bucky’s memory loss—wouldn’t want to go taking advantage of his PTSD-ridden old lover would he now? Which was bullshit. If he was ready to start re-training himself for the field then Bucky was sure as shit ready to take that monster cock of his fellas up his ass again. If anything, he was pretty certain it would help him, a good dicking always did back in the war anyway.

So five months after his undramatic—sarcasm—return to his best guy’s life, he hatched a little plan—nothing he hadn’t done numerous fucking times before in the last century when Bucky was feeling hard up but Steve was acting like a bluenose about the neighbours hearing them, or afraid one of the Howlies would catch them with their pants down if they tried to make time behind one of the dugouts while everyone slept. Every so often he had to get a little inventive at persuading his love to put it in him, sometimes even just to get the punk to show him an iota of affection, but Bucky liked to think that even after his years as a murderous automaton he still knew how to push Steve’s buttons in just the right way.

He started using the hand towels after every shower instead of the body ones that wrapped around his waist twice over, because what was the point in covering up what Steve already had vast knowledge of anyway? He would forgo shirts daily, suck on the electrolyte popsicles Steve would force on him like he was trying to win a damn competition and lie on the couch in positions he’d only ever seen in the Tijuana Bible someone had bought into the school yard once. He’d been sleeping in the same bed as Steve since the third week he’d been bought back to the damn apartment, it was safer that way—having Steve at his six while he slept and had even taken to sticking his ass out and damn near into his crotch in hopes that it would finally tempt the virtuous mook into just doing something.

But it wasn’t working. Sure, the punk _looked,_ couldn’t keep his damn eyes off his ass, or his lips, or any other part of him that had captured his attention that day. But that was where it ended. Bucky knew he could have just laid his cards out on the table from the get-go and not try to manipulate the other man into making the first move, but there was still a part of him—despite everything—that was afraid he would be rejected. He wanted to put it his Steve’s hands, and he had, but Steve wasn’t doing a damn thing about it.

But then Steve came home one night, late enough that Bucky was reaching for his glock at the sound of the lock turning. Bucky had given up asking where he disappeared to every week, he never got a straight answer anyway and it wasn’t like Bucky had any right to ask in the first place. People needed their space sometimes, he of all people understood that. But it had already been over a week since his last vanishing act, and Steve had been walking round like a defeated man since his return. He walked into the apartment, dropping onto the couch beside him with the same red eyes and miserable expression he’d been wearing for the last six days, and so Bucky made a decision. A fucking terrible one in hindsight. He bumped an elbow into the blonde’s ribs, smiling lightly at him when he looked back,

“You okay, punk?”

Steve sighed and nodded, running his two meaty paws down his face before smiling back, “Yeah. You had your shakes today?”

Bucky refrained from rolling his eyes, but only just, “Even made it to the john on my own and remembered to flush afterwards”

Steve _did_ roll his eyes, nudging his shoulder into Bucky’s and Bucky felt he couldn’t be blamed for pushing back and just…staying there. It had been one of the best things about his guys new body before and it gave him the same feeling now, leaning against a colossal arm and resting his head on an even bigger shoulder was just…nice. A little thing to go bats about, he knew, didn’t mean he wasn’t going to lean in and enjoy it though.

“Can it, smartass”, Steve muttered, resting his head on top of Bucky’s just the way he used to. It was good, more than, and if Bucky was being reminded of the better days from it then surely Steve was too. And maybe it made him feel a little brave, a little self-confident because he’d even managed to act like a normal person for an entire day that day. So he placed a cautious hand on his thigh, let it linger there for a little while as they both breathed in sync—a habit Bucky knew he had started back when Steve had barely reached his shoulders, he remembered trying to match his breaths to the smaller mans in hopes that it would aid his shot lungs in some way. Made no fucking sense, no logic behind it at all but he always did it anyway—they sat that way for a space, blanketed only by the darkness of the apartment and the soft music coming from Steve’s radio. Then Bucky let his hand slide a little higher, enough for it not to be construed as anything else but what it was and Bucky was sure he felt the air around them change. He’d read about shit like that, Steve had a whole library’s worth of books and pictures—movies—people thought he needed to read and see to be one with the rest of the 21st century and Bucky had made his way through half…this, this thing that was happening between the two of them now was exactly how they depicted love. All electrical buzzing underneath the skin and nothing else existing in the whole world but the person in front of you. Bucky tilted his head up to meet Steve’s lowering one, and that moment before their lips met felt like lighting a firework and waiting for the spark to reach the powder.

The kiss itself was different. No fireworks, explosions, spontaneous combustions…whatever the fuck else was supposed to happen. But it was better than any of that. It was quieting and alleviating, and it felt like coming home. Their first kiss after Steve had liberated Azzano was much the same, like taking your shoes off after spending twelve hours working at the docks, like relief. And Bucky was sure he’d never have a bad day again if he could have this back. His lips moved the same way they always had, even his upper lip was chapped and rough against Bucky’s own like it always used to be and it was all making his damn chest hurt. It was like he could suddenly feel the weight of all those 70 years without him, and Jesus fuck he was never leaving the punks side again if it killed him.

But then it stopped.

Steve ripped away from him, hauling himself off the couch and almost falling backwards over the little velvet footstool Stark had bought him in the theme of him being an old man after he’d complained about having sore feet. Joke was on him though because Bucky loved it, with its garish gold feet and red velvet covering…his Ma would have blown her wig if she could have seen it. He watched Steve flounder, watched the way he looked back at Bucky in what could only be described as fear,

“Steve?”, he managed to say, and it sound meek and pathetic even to his own ears. But out of all the reactions he’d imagined, that had not been one of them. His voice seemed to bring Steve back into reality, and his eyes softened into something so apologetic it was almost worse than the horror it had been a moment ago.

“Buck…shit”

Bucky scrunched his eyes shut and let his head fall back against the couch cushions. Jesus, he should have known. He didn’t want to hear whatever the fuck was going to come out of Steve’s mouth next. He shouldn’t have presumed anything. Shouldn’t have thought they could just jump back into a place they had been 70 years ago. He was damn certifiable at this point, not exactly the kind of guy you wanted to go steady with, “I’m sorry, Steve”, he mumbled, keeping his eyes closed tight as though he could make the last five minutes disappear, “I thought…Christ, I don’t know what I thought. I just…”

“Buck? Look at me, pal”

He did. Opening his eyes he saw Steve crouching in front of him, making himself just lower than eye level with Bucky, and that damn apologetic look was still there. He couldn’t stand it, “No look, Steve. It’s fine. You don’t gotta say nothin’ else. I get it. Things have changed and—”

“Jesus Bucky, shut up a minute will you?”, Steve gripped him by the knees and dropped his head against them as he sighed. Bucky waited him out. He didn’t want to. There was a perfectly good spot right underneath one of Stark’s tables down in the lab that he wanted to crawl under instead, no one ever looked for him there and Howard’s kid always gave him the courtesy of ignorance. It would be better than having to hear his best guy tell him the end of the line had come and gone while he was still playing Hydras guard dog. Steve pushed himself up and sat back down on the couch beside him with a sigh, “I have to tell you something”

The silence between them was suffocating and downright infuriating. Bucky was ready to give it up and wallow somewhere far away from Steve before he opened his mouth again, “You gotta know that I still love you. I always have. I always…I love you. So much Buck, you have no idea. I love you so, _so_ much”

Steve was leaning into him again as he spoke, pulling him closer by the back of his head, pressing his forehead against his own and Bucky closed his eyes to the feeling of just being touched again, wouldn’t have been able to stop him even if he had wanted to, and God, he would never want him to.

“I love you so much”, Steve whispered again, and Bucky knew that voice. He knew it because it was the same voice Steve always had when he was trying to stop himself from crying.

“I love you too”, Bucky replied, brushing his nose against Steve’s and lifting his hands to rub his thumbs over the skin under his eyes, wiping away the invisible tears Steve never ever shed, just like he used to do when they were still in Brooklyn and the impossibility of what they had, _what they wanted_ , all became too much to handle. Steve pressed his lips against Bucky’s once again, but only for a second before he was pulling away once more and leaving Bucky to chase after him like the sad goof he was, “Steve?”

“Bucky while you were gone…”, Steve’s jaw was tensing under his palms, and Bucky could hear the grinding of his back teeth before he spoke again, “I met someone else”

And that. That was…something. Bucky remembered Steve’s Ma walking in on the two of them macking once, they’d been about a belt buckle away from being caught with each other’s cocks in their hands, and through the shock of it all, he remembered thinking that Ms Rogers looked like she’d just been dunked into a vat of cold water. That was what Bucky felt like when he heard to those words. Like Steve had pulled some invisible handle and he’d dropped into an ice-cold cask of water like in those amusements you saw at the funfair.

“You gotta understand, Buck. I thought you were dead”

Steve was still talking, he was vaguely registering what he was saying, nodding along and trying to make himself move because he didn’t…he _couldn’t_ listen to another word, not one more. But his brain wasn’t fucking sending the right signals to his legs, and maybe the damn thing had malfunctioned again because he was rooted to the spot.

“I would never… If I’d had any idea, Buck. _Any_ idea you were still alive I would have _never_ …Fuck”,

It sounded like he was crying, but Bucky wouldn’t even know what that sounded like, he’d never heard it before. Or he’d never been lucid enough to hear it, he thought maybe when Steve had first bought him back, when Bucky had spent those nights dazed and terrified on his bedroom floor that maybe Steve had cried for real then, but if he had Bucky didn’t remember it. He couldn’t force himself to look up at Steve’s face to see anyway. But he did see him pull his phone from his pocket and he watched his fingers as they tapped silently against the screen. He wanted to say something, to tell him to put the damn thing away and just tell him who had replaced him, tell him that Bucky was good for nothing now, that he’d got someone who didn’t need a push just to go take a damn leak…  At the same time, he didn’t want to hear any of that and it was all fucking trivial now anyway because what did it matter. What did anything matter anymore, God damn it all, this was worse than anything those Nazi fucks ever did to him… Then Steve placed the phone under his face, just far enough away for his eyes to focus on the screen.

He wasn’t sure what he was looking at at first. It was a picture of him and Steve, it looked like he was the one holding the camera except, he didn’t remember that picture ever being taken, or having taken it, didn’t think they’d ever _had_ a picture taken together since the 40’s…And he hadn’t had short hair since that time the Russians gave him a buzzcut back in the 70’s, so…that… That couldn’t be him. But it was, that was his face. Only, that wasn’t his body. Couldn’t be. Couldn’t be his body because that body had two human arms. He could see that, because the left arm was the one holding the damn phone. And if he was holding a phone then it couldn’t be the War, couldn’t have been taken then so… He must have made a noise, done _something_ involuntarily because next thing he knew Steve was grabbing his face with both hands and forcing him to look at his own stupid fucking face,

“Hey, hey Bucky. Look at me, pal”

His eyes were red, they were wet too and, huh. He’d never seen Steve’s face like that before. He wished he could have been a bit more clear-headed to regard it a little more. Couldn’t really get his brain to corroborate with that line of thinking though, all he could do was push Steve’s hands away from him, “That’s not me”

“No”, Steve shook his head, and he was really crying now, sniffing and wiping at his nose with the back of his hand, his cheeks were turning an ugly, blotchy red colour while he stared down at Bucky’s knees, “No Buck, that’s TJ”

“He looks like me”, he said bluntly, though he wasn’t sure how he was saying anything really. His mind wasn’t exactly thinking in full sentences, just a string of what the fucks and repeating that unfamiliar name over and over. Steve tried to pull him into his side, to hold him he thought, but he didn’t want to be touched, not by Steve, not now. So he placed himself on the opposite end of the couch, away from Steve’s reach and pulled himself together enough to listen as his best friend told him about the guy who had taken his place while Bucky had forgot he even had one. About how they’d met at some fucking gala Stark junior had thrown, and Steve had thought he was seeing a ghost. About how Steve had hated him at first, hated him, Steve said. Hated him because he wasn’t Bucky… But then somewhere down the line, some point after Steve had rang and apologised for the way he’d acted, they’d began talking and things had changed. And if Bucky had had the strength in that moment to stand, he would have hauled himself out of their god damn window when Steve told him that they had been together for almost three years. Because three years was an entire fucking lifetime in his eyes.

“I’m sorry, Buck. I’m so fucking sorry”, Steve choked up, made an aborted attempt at reaching for him but Bucky pulled away quickly, shifting until he was sat on the arm and not on the cushions, “I’m sorry”

His mind was working through everything he knew now like he was solving the god damn theory of relativity. All those little pieces of the puzzle, they started to slot together fucking nicely now didn’t they? Because, see…that was the thing about recovering from something like he was. You spent most of it too stuck in your own fucking head with your own problems, that you didn’t see, didn’t damn well care about the shit going on around you until someone sat there, with a phone and picture of someone who was and wasn’t you, taking your place next to the only person that had ever mattered, and _made_ you damn well see. The calls Steve always made sure to take out of earshot, the hours he’d spend on the phone…God, how did he not see it? The whole disappearing act he did every week, the shifty way he’d always avoid telling Bucky where he’d been. Hadn’t mattered then had it, because why should it? He always came back. But Jesus fuck he’d finished the damn jigsaw now, “This is…this is batshit. The guy could be my god damn clone and you’re just…you’re…shacking up with him and… You’re a damn piece of work you know that?”

“Buck—”

“—No”, Bucky interrupted, holding a hand up to stop him talking because he couldn’t hear any more, he couldn’t, “No, it’s okay it’s… I remembered. Me and you. I thought…maybe you didn’t want me anymore and that’s why we weren’t… But…it’s okay. You got someone else. And he looks like me but I bet he doesn’t have all these fucking problems that you gotta take care of and he ain’t all screwy and—”

“—Bucky stop!”, Steve was in front of him again, using his whole bulk to stop Bucky from pushing away from him like he wanted, “If I’d’ve known you were alive… Jesus, Buck if I’d of thought for one _second_ that you were still alive I _never_ would have…”

“Moved on”, he mumbled, finishing Steve’s sentence whilst still refusing to look him in the eye,

“I never moved on”, Steve hissed. So fiercely it made Bucky pause, “I never. Ever, moved on. I still love you, I still want you. God, Buck I never stopped”

“You still want me?”, he hadn’t meant those words to come out so pitifully, but he wouldn’t take them back. He needed to know the answer. Because it was one thing to still love someone, a whole fucking other thing to still want them, and he needed to know that it was true.

“Always”

Bucky nodded, leaning into the hand Steve had placed on his cheek. The jerk always had those fucking bear-paws, even when he was nothing but a runt his hands were bigger than his head. And Bucky had loved them for as long as he could remember, he’d worship them shamelessly if he’d had enough booze down his neck, worship any part of Steve he could get to given the chance.

“So, you’ve…”, his voice sounded like the back of an old Ford Cabriolet, so he cleared his throat and placed his own hand on top of the one Steve had on his face, pushing it closer as he spoke, “You and…and him. You’ve ended it? You’re not with him anymore?”

The silence after made his gut clench unpleasantly and he looked up in question, only Steve wasn’t looking back, “I’m…we’re…”

“Are you _gonna_ end it?”, Bucky asked, feeling the hairs on the back of his neck stand up as he found his voice,

“Buck…”

Bucky stood up, swatting Steve’s hand away from him like a fly and smiling coldly “Right. Right so…why are you tellin’ me this? What, you want my blessing? Is that what you want?”

“No”

“You still love me you want me but you want him too? That’s it?”, he said, voice raising as he batted away the arms that Steve was reaching out towards him—

“Ye…I don’t know what I want Bucky!”,

—he needed his fucking shoes but he didn’t know where he’d damn well left them, couldn’t even remember the last time he’d worn any. Wasn’t like he ever left the damn compound. God, fuck it, he didn’t need shoes—

Steve was crying as he grabbed him by the arm, yanking him backwards before he could get more than two feet away from him, “I love you. I love you. So…so much”, Steve was still holding him and Bucky couldn’t get out of his grip as he pressed their chests so close together he could feel Steve’s breath fanning across his face, “I always have”, he croaked, “And you died. You died Bucky, and I woke up here and you weren’t here with me and…”, He was a fucking ugly crier, Bucky noted, trying to push him away but Steve was flat out immovable when he wanted to be and Bucky didn’t want to hurt him but he would, if he didn’t let him go he fucking would, “I never intended to love him too. That was…it wasn’t supposed to happen but it did and I love him too, Buck”,

He took hold of Steve’s wrist, twisting it viciously until he let go of Bucky’s arm, before pushing him away with all of the anger and hurt and every other god damn thing he was feeling bursting through every fibre of his being. He watched him stumble backwards for a space, was already halfway through the door by the time he heard the crash of him landing on top of the fucking piano they had for who the fuck knows why. Wasn’t like either of them could play the damn thing, “Leave me the fuck alone, Rogers”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little forewarning; This chapter is probably terribly written, I've had the rough draft saved for ages, edited it three times and each time forgot to save. Lost my sanity a little bit and now this is what I've ended up with because I couldn't be bothered editing it properly again. TJ's POV especially is probably awful but let's all pretend it's not that bad and I'll promise to do better on the next. If there's any truly horrible mistakes just hit me up in the comments and I'll fix it.
> 
> Also; so many ellipses, I apologise for that.
> 
> And thanks to everyone who left a comment! Didn't expect to get any!

Bucky avoided Steve for a total of thirty-six hours. With a little help from the new lady in his life, FRIDAY, he’d managed to worm his way around the facility, stock up on shakes and head pills, and get back to his little corner of Starks lab without ever running into him. It was juvenile, he knew that. And that kind of cowardly shit had never really been his style. He knew that he’d have to quit the theatrics and face up to reality at some point. Problem was, he just couldn’t see a way of getting over that giant fucking hurdle wearing his face. All he really did know was that a life _with_ Steve was always going to be better than one without... Which, truth be told, didn’t help solve the point at issue at all.

He felt a foot jabbing into his ribs from where he was curled up under the table— _his_ table, he’d spent so many hours there since his return to autonomy he’d started to regard the little rectangle in the corner as his. Squatters’ rights and all that—and it was only due to the bone deep exhaustion he was experiencing that he missed the ankle when he took a swipe at it, at least that was what he told himself, clearly heartbreak was having an effect on his reflexes.

“Got an estimate on how much longer we’re planning on staying under there, Murderbot?”

Stark’s voice was unwelcoming as always, and Bucky only had enough brain to mouth capacity left to produce a sound much like what he’d heard one of those gargantuan elephant seals make on that British documentary series Steve always made him watch.

Anyway; Stark was a genius, maybe he could understand ‘go fuck yourself’ in seal,

“Roger that, champ. Now get up”

He supposed he wouldn’t really give two shits even if he did.

He rolled out from underneath the table, knowing his time of isolation was done—no way was Stark going to quit now he’d made the rookie error of acknowledging him,

“What’s with the, you know…”, Stark waved his hand in a circular motion around Bucky’s face, though his eyes only flitted to him for the briefest of seconds, his focus more on the colossal control panel he was currently crouching over, “…moping?”

He wasn’t moping.

There was a vast fucking difference between moping and spending some time in solitude whilst one figured their shit out. It wasn’t moping.

He didn’t respond. Didn’t have to because of course Tony Stark had a mouth like a god damn Tiger 1 Tank.

“Cap finally tell you about Teej?”

He wasn’t even looking in Bucky’s direction when he said it, too busy playing with the luminescent hologram now levitating in front of him, but Bucky could feel his attention burrowing into him like a Terra-3 laser all the same, waiting for the recoil. Teej. His brain wasn’t so disconnected that he couldn’t discern just who’s nickname _that_ was.

“I know about him”, he muttered, didn’t want to be having any more conversations about him though, hard enough coming to the sudden realisation that the kid probably had a better relationship with Steve’s friends then Bucky ever would. _He’d_ been around, had three years to secure a place amongst them, didn’t have the whole ‘tried to murder a couple of them that one time’ thing to make up for either. The guy was creaming him on just about every front. A damn president’s son. What a fucking upgrade that was. Steve had pulled a real upswing there. Same face as the guy he’d loved first with none of the defects that came with the original. New and improved. Full refurbishment. Couldn’t really blame him for the trade in. If Bucky could trade _himself_ in for someone normal, someone who’s body wasn’t littered with scars, who could eat real food and slept through the night and didn’t have to take thirteen pills a day just to stop their damn brain from going out of commission again…he’d do it. He’d do it in a heartbeat.

 “So what’s the set-up? You and Cap, you were a…thing too. Right?”

“Right”, Bucky scoffed, lifting himself up onto one of the stools and pushing himself round in a circle. He found it was easy to ignore the little twinge of happiness that pulled inside his chest at Starks words—only three people had known about their relationship _before_ , and Steve and himself were two of them—because he didn’t need to hear about how everyone knew about them _now_ and had still kept him in the dark about the reserve boyfriend Steve had been keeping—or was _he_ the stand-in?—for eight damn months, “Wish I fuckin’ knew. Ask Steve”

“Been asking Gramps since the return of the living dead—that’s, that’s you…in case you didn’t get it”

“I got it”

“He said the same thing you did”

Obviously. The one time Steve Rogers didn’t have a god damn black and white conviction to share with the class.

He pushed his hand off the metal of the table in front of him, propelling the chair to spin at full tilt until the lab became a blur of colours and lights. If Steve didn’t have an answer then he didn’t know why anyone would expect him to have one.  Didn’t know what the fuck he was supposed to do on a normal day to day basis and now... He’d had a couple of plans in the works two days ago. Hadn’t come up with a backup yet. All out of ideas.

 “What am I supposed to do?”, he heard himself asking as he slowed the chair and picked up a chrome plated sphere, which was immediately ripped from his grasp, too fast for him to make a grab back at it—reflexes had definitely been compromised, he noted.

“Oh no. No”, Stark shook his head, handing the sphere to Dum-E—another acquaintance of Bucky’s, top of the line fella, would probably give him some solid advice on the situation had he the ability to formulate a kind of communication that wasn’t just handing Bucky dish rags and ramming itself into his legs like a steam roller, “Wrong person to hand out relationship advice, Bucko”

Bucky nodded, hadn’t expected a response at all. He knew what he wanted to do, had made _that_ more than obvious. Same thing he’d wanted since he was 14 and realised that the stiffy he got every time Steve moved a little too close to him meant more than him just being horny as all fuck because his balls had dropped a few months ago. God, he’d wanted Steve since he knew what wanting someone meant, had probably been in love with him for way longer than that too. TJ Hammond might have had three years of loving Steve Rogers, but Bucky had a god damn lifetime.

Still felt like the odd man out though.

He heard Stark cough, could tell it was put on and watched as the man’s eyes darted back forth between himself and his projection almost nervously. At least what he thought was nervously, he wasn’t sure Stark had the means to feel that spectrum of human emotion,

“Ever…”, he coughed again, and Bucky knew for sure this time that the guy wasn’t feeling all to confident, because his gaze definitely just zoned in on the suit standing to the left like he was ensuring it was still at hand, “Ever heard of polyamory?”

Bucky paused and raised an eyebrow, repeating the word in his head before frowning. Polyamory…sounded like a mathematic equation, something he’d been taught in the handful of years he’d attended school before calling it quits and grabbing at the 40¢ an hour wage hauling cargo over at Manhattan docks. He remembered his Ma always telling him he was too smart for school anyway, a paradox if he’d ever heard one, he’d been stupid enough to believe it in any case.

“Should I?”,

Stark shrugged, eyes firmly back on his project, “Pretty sure good ol’ Dad would’ve been champing at the bit for the opportunity with his two prized crusaders had he known...”, he sighed, finally dropping his hands to turn his attention fully back on Bucky, “Polyamory it’s…a relationship between multiples. Like a threesome. But with the whole, domestic schtick as well as the carnal knowledge…thing”

“You’re saying—”

“—I’m not.”, he held his hand up, shutting Bucky up with the kind of glare that Stark was probably more used to being on the receiving end of, “I’m not saying anything. This is all off record. It’s an… alternative option. That’s all”

 

 FRIDAY informed Bucky that Steve was in their apartment. He’d used the time it had taken to walk up the fifty flights of stairs from Starks workshop to their floor to pull out his phone and google the word polyamory. He’d memorised the words the articles had used, stared at the pictures his search had issued, trying his damnedest _not_ to imagine his own face amongst them. Tried his damnedest not to imagine much of anything but what he was going to say to Steve. He’d save the whole, thinking about just what the fuck he was doing for another day. Shelve whatever feelings were bristling around his brain until he had a definite plan, until he knew the next step.  

“Buck?”

Steve was up and striding straight towards him before he’d even got both feet through the door, those dark circles under his eyes, on skin that rarely felt the effects of exhaustion, fixed at him accusingly. Bucky refused to feel guilty. Steve had eight months to sort this shit out, Bucky was allowed a night or two alone to mull it over.

Still, didn’t stop the pang of guilt that crept up anyway, sliding alongside the age-old need to check he’d eaten his cut of the leftovers, march him into bed and force the little punk into taking care of himself. He was always better at taking care of others than his own meat suit Steve was, always burned himself out doing it too.

“Are yo—”

“Let me talk”, Bucky said, cutting him off and watching as his steps faltered, stopping completely only a few feet in front of where Bucky was still standing at the door. He reached an arm behind himself, pushing it closed as he tried to remember the words he’d been reciting continuously in his head since he’d walked away from Stark, “You said… You said you still love me?”

“I do. I always—”,

“—Yea, you always have. I know”

Steve had taken another step forward as he spoke, reaching a hand out towards him before Bucky had cut him off, jerking back and pressing himself against the cool metal of the door—it would be easier to keep the basket case he called a brain operational if Steve wasn’t standing too close, wasn’t touching, couldn’t let him touch yet. Not until he’d got it out.

He sighed loudly, gaze moving away from Steve’s face and down to his feet before he asked his next question, “And you still…”, he coughed, god the words felt like a mud hook on his tongue, “You love _him_ …too?”

There was no answer. Bucky waited a beat and more, heard nothing until he looked up and met Steve’s gaze, saw he was waiting for him to do so before he nodded, “I love him too, Buck”

It was what he’d expected to hear. Christ, those words had been reverberating around his fucking skull for the last day and a half, hadn’t been able to get rid of them no matter how hard he pushed his hands into his eye sockets. None of that made it any easier to hear again, despite how he’d thought otherwise. Felt like a damn push dagger to the gut. Still, never let it be said that Bucky Barnes had any sense of self-preservation,

“Okay”, he nodded, using some lame breathing techniques his shrink had promised would help organise his thoughts, never fucking worked, never—“We should…”

“Buck what—”

“Just let me finish, Steve! I ain’t…”, He could feel the words clogging up his throat, trying to get out whilst at the same time not fucking budging, “I’ve been thinkin’ and…it’s…fuck”

He pulled on the hair at his temples, made his eyes water but stopped his head from doing that thing, from humming like his Ma’s old vaccum. His shrink told him to consider his brain like he would an old computer, that sometimes it took a little longer than the newer models would to load the next page. He asked just what made her think 21st century similes would be any fucking good to someone born in 1917. He felt two hands gripping his wrists, he’d know that touch anywhere, the tenderness and the strength it yielded. He let Steve pull his hands to his sides, let him twine his fingers with his own and press their foreheads together. It helped. Helped his mind de-clutter just enough to be able to open his eyes again.

“Start again?”, Steve mumbled, and Bucky let himself breathe just a little more of his scent like he was a damn pack animal before nodding and pushing away. Steve followed him to the couch, sitting down where Bucky didn’t. He stayed standing, looking down at Steve and wanting nothing more than to climb into his lap and make him forget there had ever been anyone else. He wondered if he could do it. Make him forget TJ Hammond. Wondered if he’d ever be able to forgive himself for trying.

“I gotta know… Why didn’t you tell me before? I’ve been back eight months, Steve. You couldn’t of mentioned it?”

“I didn’t know how”

“Same way you told me yesterday, blockhead”, was it yesterday? Bucky didn’t know, knew how many hours he’d been away but didn’t know if it was day or night anymore,

“How was I supposed to do that?”, Steve asked, making to stand up before catching sight of Bucky’s glare and staying put, “I didn’t even know if you remembered us when you first got back, I wasn’t sure you ever would and then it just…it just seemed… I don’t know, what was I supposed to say, ‘Oh hey Buck, you don’t happen to remember that we were in love do you? Oh you do? You remember the fake vows we made behind camp in Austria too? Great, by the way I have this boyfriend now, real swell kid, looks just like you”

Yeah that wouldn’t have gone down well. Fucking Steve Rogers. He’d forgotten all about their vows too, the exchanging of dog tags in place of rings. They’d thought they were never going to make it out of the war alive, he guessed they were right. He shook his head and tried to remember what it was he had wanted to say.

“I got talkin’ to Stark. He said, we, me and you and…and TJ we…we should… Polyamory. It’s a…a three-way…thing it’s—not just making time it’s…triad. A threesome. We should three…three-way”

Fuck, that could have gone better. He’d never been any kind of Steve Rogers when it came to making inspiring speeches or whatever the fuck it was he was he’d just tried to do, but surely he’d been better than that. Blame it on the brain damage.

“You want…”, Steve cleared his throat and looked back at Bucky carefully, “You want a threesome? With TJ?”

“I…I don’t know. Is that? Listen—“, Bucky bent down, crouching on his toes with his knees pressing near Steve’s—a perfect imitation of the way the blonde had sat in front of him only two nights ago, “—Remember London? Back in the war you…you remember Peggy?”

“Of course I remember Peggy what—”

“—You remember what she…proposed? After you told her about us? After you told her you weren’t gonna leave me?”

Bucky watched the realisation of what he was suggesting finally hit him, his eyes widening and that Irish skin on the apples of his cheeks and across his nose turning a dusty shade of pink, “Yeah Buck I…I remember”, he shook his head, exhaling loudly through his nostrils, “Buck you said you would never—”

“—I know what I said, Rogers”, he snapped, already regretting bringing up Peggy fucking Carter. Not that he had a problem with her, not anymore, had grown to love her just as much as Steve had—though maybe not in completely the same way—but the memory of that time still bought up a nasty taste in his mouth,

“She wanted…the three of us?”

“Yea”

Steve was shaking his head again, getting that stubborn look on his face that Bucky always hated. The one he pulled out whenever he was acting like a righteous pill, “Buck you…I remember, your exact words were ‘over my dead fucking body, Rogers’. And then you socked me one”

Bucky sighed, for someone so smart Steve could be a real dumb piece of shit when he wanted, “Steve, I’m queer. M’not like you I don’t… Women ain’t never been an option for me. What was I supposed to do, close my eyes every time we went to bed? Yea ‘cause that would’ve been a real healthy relationship, apart from all those times where I refused to touch her…’cause I would’ve, Steve. I would’ve refused to—”

“—Alright, alright”, Steve smirked, the first hint of a real smile he’d seen in weeks, “But, with TJ? You…?”

“What can I say? He’s a good-looking guy”, Bucky tried to imitate Steve’s smile, tried to make his words seem light. He’d always been a good actor, could’ve hit the big time given the opportunity, “You er…you think he’ll bite?”

Steve shrugged, misery taking hold of his face once again and Bucky hated TJ for it even more, “I don’t know he, he hasn’t spoken to me in a week. Won’t take my calls…”

Bucky nodded and braced himself for his next words, “You should… Y’should go to him. Ask him. Bring him…bring him back here”

Bucky Barnes. Masochist till the end.

“Is this what you want? You’re not… You’re not just doing this for me? Are you?”

He snorted, huffed out a bitter laugh, “Who the fuck else would I be doin’ this for, Steve?”

“Buck”

“No just, shut up a minute look. I ain’t happy about it. You know, we wake up in this new life where we don’t have to hide nothin’ and we ain’t treated like degenerates no more and this, this ain’t how I wanted it to be. Not even close. But I get it. I get…Steve, this ain’t your fault and, if I have to share you then I will. I’m too selfish to…I can’t _not_ have you so…I’ll be happy if I know you’re happy, okay?”

They sat in silence, Steve’s index finger making light circles on his denim-clad knee. Bucky finally chanced a glance back up to his face. He knew that expression too, had seen it a fair few times in their past and sighed, urging his voice not to crack when he spoke. He nudged Steve’s leg, waited until he was looking back before smiling, “It’s worth a shot, huh? Go get your boy, Rogers. Before I get Stark to send a jet”

 

 **********

**Eight months ago**

 

_“Move in with me”_

_TJ faltered in his movements, his thighs that had been burning to the point of torment a mere second ago suddenly felt weightless. Though, in retrospect, that was most likely due to him no longer using them to bounce up and down on Steve’s dick than because of the words that had just been murmured in his ear. Their foreheads were pressed together, mouths so close they were sharing breaths and TJ pulled back, staring down at the blonde he was sitting on whilst trying to ignore the jolt of pleasure/pain that burst up his spine from the manoeuvre._

_“What?”, he wheezed, his chest heaving as he struggled to control his breathing. The enamoured look on Steve’s face wasn’t helping in that respect, neither was the fact that there was barely a sheen of sweat on him, though TJ contended that **he** was the one who had been doing all the work for the last twenty minutes, not to mention his acute lack of magic super soldier serum. _

_“Move in with me”, Steve said again, nudging his nose against TJ’s. It wasn’t a question, wasn’t an order either, gave him the impression that it was more of a dare. TJ smiled, eyes darting between both of Steve’s, checking for any indication that he wasn’t serious. It wasn’t the first time the subject of moving in together had been mentioned, they’d skirted around the idea every so often; who would move where, who’s bed they’d keep, whether TJ would be allowed to turn the kitchen slash dining area into an exact replication of the Bada Bing bar from The Soprano’s... Neither of them had ever spoken so plainly about it before though._

_“You serious?”, he asked, still breathless but from more than just exhaustion now. He was serious, he really meant it._

_“Mm”, Steve began to kiss that sweet spot under his ear, making TJ unintentionally grind down on the dick that was still lodged deep inside of him, before pecking him quickly on the lips and smiling up at him, “Of course I’m serious. Move in with me”_

_“When? Soon?”, the question came out so quickly and so eagerly that he knew had he not been circling his hips in the way that always drove Steve to make those fucking beautiful sounds he was making, the blonde would definitely have been laughing at him. Needy in every way possible, Steve would tell him when he did shit like that, always said it like it was a good thing, never had to be ashamed of how much he loved, not with Steve._

_“Well, when do you want to?”_

_“Tomorrow?”_

_Steve did laugh that time, dropping his forehead onto his shoulder and biting the skin there after TJ had clenched down around him in retaliation. They both hissed between their teeth and met each other’s gaze at the same time, both got a little lost in the moment, forgetting what they were talking about as they began to move together once again. Steve’s hands were gripping TJ’s cheeks, spreading them apart as he lifted him up and down effortlessly—it was TJ’s favourite position, whether for the sweet angle that Steve’s cock would glide in at or because of the way Steve would always look at him like he’d hung the god damn moon and wrote a sonnet with the stars, he didn’t know. Always made him a little light-headed._

_He could feel Steve’s cock turn rigid inside of him, a sure sign that he was about to come even if those little grunts he was making hadn’t given it away first. TJ made an aborted attempt to grab at his own neglected dick, wanting to come with him, to feel it all with him at the same time, but Steve got there first, his hand covering the entire length as his fingers wrapped around his shaft—a less secure man might’ve found the sight a little disheartening, especially when compared to the size of the one he was currently riding like he was at a damn rodeo, but TJ liked to think secure was something he could describe himself as now. Happy, contented, secure…that was what he was. All thanks to the little shit of a boyfriend below him._

_Steve’s body tensed underneath him, the way it always did when he came, and the hand around his dick tightened in an almost painful grip as he unloaded inside him. He loved that feeling, always had, how it felt like someone was pouring hot wax inside his ass. Not the best metaphor, he could admit, didn’t sound all too pleasant now he thought about it, but god, he’d let Steve come in his ass over and over until he ‘d ran out of the stuff if he could._

_Steve went pliant underneath him, his hand still holding TJ’s now throbbing cock—throbbing because Steve had a fucking death grip around it and he was pretty sure he was cutting off his circulation, he couldn’t help but try to fuck himself up into it, desperate for his own release. Didn’t work. Death grip was exactly that. But mercifully, Steve dragged himself out of after-ejaculation dreamland quick enough to finish the job for him, his hand moving up and down in an unrelenting pace, barely giving TJ time to react to the sudden sensation before he was spilling out across Steve’s abs._

_“Oh my god”, he moaned, letting his head fall forwards into the crook between Steve’s neck and shoulder, closing his eyes and trying to catch his breath as Steve peppered his temple with kisses, his thighs were burning, shaking as he tried to press himself even closer against him. Wasn’t going to be his ass causing him discomfort the rest of the day for a change._

_“Tomorrow, huh?”, he heard Steve murmur, his lips running along the shell of his ear and TJ was glad for his face already being hidden because he wasn’t sure he could look at him right then. He groaned into his skin, cheeks burning hot, “Too soon?”_

_“Never”_

_They sat in silence, holding each other as their breathing slowed into a speed that didn’t sound like the beginnings of an asthma attack, until Steve reached down the side of the bed, picking up a discarded t-shirt before lifting TJ off his lap and holding the material under his leaking ass. Was a little mortifying, he thought as he flopped backwards and lay his head on the pillows, having Steve wipe him down between his cheeks like that, but he was used to the man turning into a damn caretaker by now, and fuck if he wasn’t too done in to even lift his legs by himself. It was nice, anyway, being treated so attentively, couldn’t do much more than sigh dreamily and let himself drift. He watched through half-lidded eyes as Steve placed a light kiss above his knee before throwing the shirt with deadly accuracy into the hamper that only ever got used when Steve was there. The array of dirty laundry that covered his bedroom floor was testament to that._

_Never, he’d said, never too soon. TJ believed him, and god help him he **would** move in tomorrow. He’d pack up his shit tonight and be on the first plane to New York tomorrow without ever looking back, hell he’d drive the four hours there on the back of Steve’s bike-of-death if he had to. _

_There was a little issue though, one that once again made him wish he’d been born to different parents,_

_“If I do…”, he started, not looking at Steve as he spoke, “If I move in with you I…you know we’ll…”_

_“Have to stay at the Tower?”_

_TJ chewed on his bottom lip as he nodded. It wasn’t a new revelation, they’d both figured early on when things had started getting serious that that would be one of their very limited options. If it was up to his Mom she’d have Steve and TJ under her own roof with the stormtroopers following them to the damn toilet._

_“Teej…”, Steve shuffled his butt up the bed, parking himself besides TJ’s chest and grabbing his chin until he was looking up at him, “We’ve talked about this, remember? I don’t care where we end up, you know that”_

_“Yeah but—“, he rolled onto his side, pillowing his head on his bent arm and stroking circles into Steve’s hip, , “You never wanted living in the Tower to be permanent. You wanted a place in Brooklyn”_

_“If I go there you can’t come with me”_

_letting Steve pull him closer so their noses were almost touching, eyes flickering shut briefly as he ran a hand up and down his flank_

_He huffed, rolling onto his back again and glaring at the ceiling, “Don’t see why not. It’s like I’m still a god damn teenager, not a 26-year-old man”_

_Steve shrugged, lying down and planting a kiss on his shoulder, “It is what it is. Downside to being a Hammond, I guess”_

_“My whole life has been the downside to being a Hammond”, he grumbled, turning onto his side again so their noses were touching, “It’s just…you never wanted to live in there in the first place and now being with me is going to make you”_

_“Hey, can it already”, he said, pushing onto his elbows and leaning over him, “No one can make me do anything I don’t want to do, not even you. So if I say I want to, you can rest assured I mean it. You know your Mom’s right, it’s safer for you there. And I’m happy to be there”_

_TJ looked at him sceptically, one eyebrow raised before Steve kissed him softly on the lips, his tongue sliding across his own as he cupped his face, “I’ll be with you, of course I’ll be happy”_

_“Dork”_

_Steve ducked down suddenly, gnawing at his flank like he was a damn barbeque rib and TJ screeched in a way that was definitely not cool, and extremely fucking embarrassing,_

_“Dork, huh?”, he muttered, giving TJ momentary relief before he had him crying again as his fingers began digging into his ribs and his teeth nibbled at the delicate flesh along the crease of his upper thigh. TJ couldn’t breathe through laughing, **somewhere** between laughing and sobbing anyway, couldn’t kick him away because the man was like a damn immovable force on top of his legs, tried shouting mercy but it all that came out was a string of mangled gasps for air. Steve abruptly lifted his legs into the air and took one quick and entirely unexpected swipe under his balls with his tongue before flipping him onto his stomach, not giving TJ the chance to even catch his breath. _

_“Steve..”, he groaned when he felt the other man’s breath fanning over his ass, “Steve, your jizz is still coming outta me”_

_“Better clean you up then”_

_That was all the warning he was given before his cheeks were parted and Steve’s tongue was delving into his hole, which could barely have fucking closed back into the shape it was supposed to be since he’d pulled out of him fifteen minutes ago. He could feel how easy it was for him to slide inside, for his tongue to lick at the supple flesh behind his rim, and that was the last coherent thought he had as Steve did what he did best. Forget that he was one of the world’s best superheroes, the greatest soldier that ever lived…what **TJ** knew, was that Steve Rogers was the fucking champion of eating ass. _

_He couldn’t even be self-conscious of what his used asshole must look like, taste like even, it all felt too good and soon enough he was pushing himself back onto Steve’s mouth, silently pleading for more…that was until the shrill sound of Steve’s phone rang out three times, the sound they both knew meant he’d be leaving._

_Steve faceplanted between his cheeks, which would have been hilarious for TJ had it not meant his tongue was no longer working it’s magic, “This cannot be happening”, TJ groaned, voice muffled by the pillow he was breathing into. He felt Steve reaching over his body to grab the phone from the nightstand,_

_“Damn”, he sighed,_

_“Tell me you’ve got time to finish this. I swear to god, Steve…”, he said, lifting his face out of the pillow and craning his neck back to glare at his boyfriend,_

_“I don’t”_

_TJ groaned even louder, thrusting his hips up and down in the kind of petulant strop Steve was more than used to by now. The man planted his hands on either side of his head and pressed a kiss to the back of his neck, “Sorry pal”_

_“Not me you should be saying sorry to”, he grumbled, wriggling his ass pointedly,_

_“You’re right”, Steve nodded solemnly, before crawling back down his body and spreading his cheeks wide enough to make TJ’s hole clench down, “Sorry, beautiful”, he murmured, lips smacking loudly against his skin as he spattered a plethora of kisses across his asshole like he was worshipping in front of a god damn shrine._

_“Why do I get thrown a ‘pal’ but my asshole gets beautiful?”, he laughed, losing his breath all over again as he cracked up, his hand reaching back to bat feebly at Steve’s head,_

_He stopped and flipped TJ over again, looking down at him and kissing the side of his mouth then the tip of his nose, “I love you”_

_“I love you too”, TJ replied, stretching up to land a kiss on his lips before falling back onto the pillow, “Don’t get killed”_

_“I’ll try my best”_

_“I’m assuming you’re either dead or unconscious…”, Natasha’s distinctive raspy voice sounded from outside the bedroom door. TJ had long stopped wondering just how the woman broke into his house on what was becoming a monthly basis without triggering his top-of-the-line alarms or alerting Steve to her presence, “…That can be the only reason you weren’t outside waiting for me like I said right, Rogers? This is your four second warning, I’m coming in”_

_Steve rolled his eyes but managed to pull on underwear, those god-awful corduroys—TJ was going to have to figure out a way of ‘losing’ them when he moved into the Tower—and cover TJ’s exposed dick with the relinquished duvet all before Natasha kept to her word and strolled inside exactly four seconds later,_

_“Nat”, Steve muttered in acknowledgement, grabbing the blue shirt he was wearing yesterday from the chair and pulling it over his head. TJ tried not to pout as he watched those glorious abs disappear behind the cotton,_

_“Rogers”, Natasha smirked, glancing between himself and Steve in a way that made TJ wonder just how long she had been standing outside that door, “TJ”_

_“Hey”, he said awkwardly, the woman still made him nervous as all fuck. Rightfully so, he thought. She was by far the most intimidating of all Steve’s friends, not to mention the confusion she brought to his sexuality._

_“You gonna be okay, Teej?”, Steve asked, pulling him from his thoughts, a good thing too, he wasn’t sure he was all too comfortable with where they were heading, mainly because he was almost certain that Natasha could read minds._

_“Yeah”, he nodded, unable to hold back a yawn, “I’m having lunch at Nanna’s. I’ll be fine”_

_Steve nodded and kissed his forehead, “I’ll call you when I can”_

TJ didn’t know who he’d expected to be on the other side of the door, his Mom or Doug most likely, he’d turned his phone off nearly five days ago and that alone would have been enough for either one of them to march round with half an army of stormtroopers. Whoever he’d expected it definitely hadn’t been Steve.

“Jesus Teej… Are you using again?”

He stared up at him in bewilderment, eyes blurring in and out of focus. In his alcohol-ridden state, and lacking all sanity apparently, he found himself wishing that he’d taken at least one shower in the last week so he could wrap himself around the man and never let go again. Had hardly finished that train of thought before it was being overridden by the still unmitigated anger he felt towards him, not helped by the fucking accusation thrown at him before he’d even had chance to blink.

“Yea’ve missed you too. S’been a week, wasn’ sure I’d see you again”, he slurred, shaking his head as he tried to close the door. Of course, that didn’t happen, Steve’s hand slapped against the wood and he pushed himself inside, towering over him. TJ wouldn’t have stood a chance against him on a good day, never mind when he was trying to absorb three quarters of a bottle of Cîroc. He stumbled backwards, would have fallen had Steve’s stupidly big hands not grabbed hold of his elbow and held him upright.

“TJ, this isn’t a damn joke look at you”

He shrugged out of his grip, batted his hands away when he tried to grab him again and tripped over the foot of his armchair. Steve put his hands on his shoulders, bending his knees so they were eye level, had TJ been less tragic he might have been able to push him away again, but having those blue eyes looking back at him, having him close again like he’d been dreaming about all week, he didn’t stand a chance.

“You’re a mess Teej, what’ve you taken? Coke? Pills?”

And just like that the spell was broken.

“Fuck you, Steve”, he snarled, cursing himself for the way his voice cracked on his name. He tried to twist out of his hands but Steve’s unrelenting strength kept him rooted to the spot,  

“Tell me”, he demanded, shaking his shoulders a little and making TJ’s vision blur once more. He stepped backwards and this time Steve reluctantly let him go,

“M’drunk asshole, not coked up”, he grabbed the bottle of Cîroc and began chugging it down as though to prove his point, regretting it almost immediately as the liquid burned his throat and made his stomach lurch unpleasantly. He hadn’t eaten yet, couldn’t remember if he’d eaten the day before either, was only a matter of time before the liquid made it’s way back up,

“Drunk?”

“You don’believe me?”, he laughed bitterly, wanting nothing more than to knock that doubtful look off the asshole’s stupid perfect face. He wasn’t a liar. And he didn’t do that anymore, Steve _knew_ that, “You wan’ me t’take a piss test? Will that satisfy you oh’ morally superior one?”, he had to give himself props on the pronunciation, ten minutes ago he was struggling to say his own fucking name,

Steve snatched the bottle from his hand before TJ could bring it to his lips again, “Sit down”

“Go home”, he spat, planting his feet and glaring at the man in front of him

“TJ. Sit. Down”

He sat down. Not because he wanted to, but because he was almost certain that the ‘Captain America voice’ had some kind of mind control power, and, well…he was fucking tanked, wasn’t sure how much longer his legs were only going to hold him up, “Don’need to treat me like a damn kid”, he mumbled, his head drooping forward as he closed his eyes, didn’t need to see Steve. Didn’t need to see any more of the disgust, he knew what he looked like, “Know why you’re here. Jus’ say it an’ go ‘way”

He felt rather than saw him walk back towards him, felt his legs brush his own as he crouched in front of him, tapping his knees to get his attention. TJ looked at him, vision still bleary and unfocused, but clear enough to see the glass of water he was directing towards his mouth. Would have knocked it away had he not been so damn thirsty.

“I’m not here to break up with you, Teej”, Steve murmured, still tipping the glass to his lips and letting his thumb wipe away the drops that were escaping down his chin, “That’s the last thing I want to do”

He pushed the glass away, “Then…what?”, didn’t want to let his hope escalate but that was exactly what it did anyway as he began to wonder if this was Steve saying he’d made a decision, that he’d chose TJ.

Steve ran a hand through his curls, fingers catching in the tangles that hadn’t been washed, or combed through for that matter, in a week. And TJ felt the goose bumps rising across his skin as his touch trailed down his neck until it rested on his thigh, “I need you to hear me out before you say anything”, Steve said

“Okay…”

“Okay”, he nodded to himself, taking a breath then looking straight into TJ’s eyes. He was nervous, he realised, suddenly feeling the exact same way, “I love you, more than any—…I love you, and the thought of not being with you kills me and I…I spoke to Buck, we-I, I told you that I love him too?”

The conversation was sounding all too familiar to the one they’d had a week ago and TJ didn’t want to have it again. Couldn’t do it again. Tears were already starting to blur his vision. Like he could ever forget. Like he hadn’t spent the last three years trying to live up to a ghost.

“I thought I had to choose. I thought—I tried to. I tried to choose but I couldn’t. I can’t”

“So, what?”, he asked, because he really couldn’t go through it all again, it felt like being broken up with twice, both times for the same reason whilst being told repeatedly that it wasn’t a break-up, “Why are you here?”

“God, Teej. I don’t know how to ask this of you I don’t...I want you both”

“You can’t have us both, Steve. That’s not how this shit works”

“It’s..”, Steve ducked his head, and TJ realised with a sudden sober mind just what he was asking,

“Jesus Christ, you actually want us both don’t you? That’s what you’re saying”, he laughed incredulously, eyes widening with clarity as he stared down at the huddled figure Steve was making, “I can’t believe—what so, you’re just going to have us both then? Split your time between us? What’s it gonna be, he gets you Monday to Friday and I get weekends? Cause I gotta tell you Steve, Sundays don’t really work for me”

“Stop! Just stop, that’s not what I mean…” Steve stood up, his hands pushing through his hair as he paced across the room and back, “I don’t mean, I just…I know I got no right to ask this of you—”

“Damn fucking right you don’t”, he’d stood up at the same time Steve had. He couldn’t find the words to scream at him like he wanted, could feel his chest heaving with each angry intake of breath, “You’re a selfish fucking asshole, you know that? I can’t believe you thought—”

“—I didn’t!”, Steve cried, trying to grab hold of TJ’s arms, he ripped away from him, stepping back so he couldn’t try again, “I didn’t think, I didn’t. This was…Bucky said… Teej, I didn’t know what to do, I love you both so much and I didn’t know what to do and then Bucky he…he started talking about polyamory and—”

“—Polyamory? Bucky said that?”, TJ paused, the thoughts that were buzzing like angry hornets around his head just a second ago came to a standstill,

“Yea”

“Bucky… This was Bucky’s idea? For all three of us to..?”, He’d thought… Not polyamory. Was picturing something more along the lines of polygamy, imagined Steve switching between the two of them as he pleased, taking what he wanted and when while TJ was left to wait for his turn. Hadn’t imagined them all _together_.

“Yea, Teej. Yea he—”

“—Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why would he want that?”, Bucky didn’t know him, and TJ couldn’t imagine him finding out his old lover had a partner who could be his damn doppelganger and wanting _that._ He hadn’t given Bucky’s side of things much thought at all, tried not to think about him in any way other than how much he hated him for taking Steve away from him, for having him first. If the shoe was on the other foot, TJ knew beyond all doubt that he would have taken Steve and run.

“I don’t know he…He still loves me. He knows how much I love you”

He felt unsteady on his feet and had to blink the world back into focus, swallowing down the bile that was trying to rise up with the vodka his stomach was rejecting, “I don’t…I don’t think I can share you, Steve”, he shook his head, the thought of it alone was nearly tearing him in half, he couldn’t do it “I can’t do it”

“Okay… Okay I understand, I—”

“—I think you should leave”

**Author's Note:**

> You can also find me doing absolutely fuck all on tumblr under reillycoops (I should probably learn how to do links)


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